The Son
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Andrej Nikolaidis. The Son
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The Son
Andrej Nikolaidis
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I soon tired of the scene. Three helicopters were now in operation, and it was plain to see that they would defeat the fire in what would be one more triumph of technology. Once technology and nature were pitted against each other in this way I felt there was nothing left for me. And yet I simply couldn’t make up my mind as to which was more monstrous: nature itself or the methods people employ in order to dominate it. Before turning and going back into the room, I glanced over to my father’s house. The lights were off, but I knew he wasn’t asleep.
It was at that point that I heard the bleating of goats. The neighbour must have been herding a flock along the road towards the house. ‘Eh, mate!’ I heard him call, and that sound made the blood freeze in my veins. I wasn’t prepared for a conversation with him. I wasn’t in the state of mind to thank him for saving my father’s goats from the fire, or to invite him in for a drink and have a good talk like good neighbours and real men are supposed to.
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